His fingers wrap snugly around his brother’s throat, skin pale in contrast to the golden hue.
Thor’s pulse surges beneath his hands, strong and fast. Loki can feel his fear, can taste it when he presses his lips to Thor’s temple.
Thor groans, the sound muffled by the press of Loki’s hands, head lolling back on Loki’s shoulder. His skin is hot against Loki’s, the muscles in his shoulders and neck pulling taunt as Loki squeezes tighter.
He can hear Thor straining for breath, pulse fluttering even faster beneath his hands. He knows he is hard, can see his cock straining against his breeches as Loki’s hands clamp down even tighter.
Thor will not admit it, but he loves this. He craves being at his brother’s mercy. With every breath that Loki steals from him, his desire grows tenfold, adrenaline screaming through his veins, heat building as the blackness draws closer and closer, as his mind fogs, as his lungs beg for just one more breath.
That is when Thor comes; when he is skating on the brink of unconsciousness, when he can feel Loki’s skin like a hot brand against his own, when he can no longer form complete thoughts. He comes when one of Loki’s hands leave his throat, and shoves down his breeches, wrapping around his cock in one long, rough pull.
Loki smiles. He always does. Power is like rich red wine, the taste metallic and thick on his tongue. He strokes his brother through his orgasm, feeling him shudder against his chest, moaning low and so very sweet.